Drinking Buddies
by Wildfire1980
Summary: Tyrion gets Jorah drunk, leaving Daenerys to help him back to his chambers.


Jorah threw another drink back, while Tyrion was laughing hysterically at some joke he had told in poor taste.

"We're celebrating, Mormont. Think you could manage to crack a smile."

Jorah slammed his empty tankard on the table, piercing the dwarf with a pointed look.

Tyrion leaned over, gazing down into the bottom of the Knight's now empty cup.

"What are you doing?" Jorah growled impatiently.

"I'm searching for your long, lost sense of humor. I'm certain it's down there somewhere."

The dwarf looked at Jorah, shocked to find the glowering man, smiling.

"Let me know if you find it." He quipped back, drunkenly.

Tyrion smiled broadly, pouring more wine into his waiting tankard, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.

"See, there it is." He said, refilling his own tankard, while Varys watched on, unimpressed with the scene. "I knew I liked you for a reason, Mormont."

"You don't like me, remember."

Tyrion paused, tilting his head in thought. "Right, but you're far better company when drunk."

"We're both more tolerable." Jorah admitted.

"Yes. Exactly, Mormont." Tyrion held his tankard high in the air. "Let's make a toast then…to the tolerable."

They slammed their tankards together, ale sloshing about in their cups and over the edge, spilling carelessly onto the floor.

Tyrion scrunched up his face, as he swallowed another mouthful. "Is it me…or does this ale taste like shit?"

Jorah looked at the drink offensively, shaking his head in agreement. "Tastes horrendous. Like piss."

They both laughed again.

"Surely there is something better around here or does our Queen hoard all of the good stuff for herself?"

"Doesn't care for it."

"She doesn't care for Daario either, but she tolerates him – Just like her wine." Tyrion quipped.

Varys rolled his eyes, as Jorah drunkenly laid his forehead onto the table, trying to find his bearings.

"I think our dear Lord Commander has had enough for the night."

Tyrion slapped the older man on the shoulder. "Come on, Mormont. Surely you can hold more than that. Bears should be known for being fierce drinkers."

Jorah groaned, forehead still firmly planted on the table.

"One more drink." Tyrion tempted. "To your return."

Finally, Jorah raised up, eyes squinting from the light of the fire burning in front of him.

"How about a song?" Tyrion offered, while Varys vehemently mouthed 'no.'

"The bear and the maiden fair." Jorah's eyes snapped to his. "Seems proper for such an occasion."

"If you sing that song." Mormont started. "I swear by the old gods, I'll throw you into the fire."

Tyrion looked askance, slowly lowering his tankard to the table. "Perhaps another song then?"

"No."

**-x-x-x- **

He was supposed to be at their meeting an hour ago and still, no Ser Jorah could be found.

Until Missandei returned to her chambers with news of his whereabouts.

"He is with Tyrion in the Great Hall."

Daenerys' brows creased in confusion. "With Tyrion?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"What for?"

Missandei wavered. "They are drinking, Your Grace."

"Drinking." She repeated a bit annoyed. "Are they drunk?"

The expression on Missendei's face told her all she needed to know.

As she made her way down the steps to the Great Hall, she could hear singing in the distance.

One baritone was obnoxiously loud, with slurred lyrics that were gravely out of tune.

The other one was more on point. Clearly inebriated, but also…_pleasant_. Its dulcet tones enveloping her like a blanket – welcoming and warm.

And she could recognize _that_ particular voice amidst a thousand armies.

She never knew that he could sing.

Daenerys listened more closely, certain that if he wasn't so besotted, that the trill in his voice would be sturdier, more accommodating.

When she entered the great hall, the scene before her was almost comical.

Tyrion was standing on the bench that Jorah sat on.

The two men that claimed to hold the most animosity toward the other, had their arms wrapped around their shoulders, in a brotherly, drunken embrace, singing to the top of their lungs before the fire, as Varys looked on, head propped upon his hand, bored out of his mind.

The spymaster took a double-take as the Queen entered the room and then desperately began trying to shush the two, hands waving frantically about in a silent warning.

But they only sang louder, as if trying to annoy the eunuch.

When suddenly, Tyrion stopped, as Jorah's singing faded into the background.

"For the love of gods, Varys, would you stop interrupting."

The eunuch merely pointed toward the entrance.

Where both men, drunkenly turned in unison.

The dwarf only smiled emphatically, raising his tankard high and calling out, "Your Grace."

As Jorah looked on in horror, eyes wide and mouth agape, as though he were a child caught in the middle of some mischief.

He tried desperately to set his tankard down upon the table, but his aim was poor and clearly not as sharp. It wasn't until his third attempt that Varys took pity on the Knight, taking the drink from his hand and setting it upon the table for him.

Leaving Jorah to only stare at the offensive drink, not daring to look back at his Queen in this state.

"Perhaps you would like to join us?" Tyrion offered.

Even more of a gentleman drunk.

Or perhaps he was more of a flirt.

Most definitely the latter.

"Judging by your singing, I believe you both have had enough."

Tyrion placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me, my fair Queen."

It wasn't until they heard a loud thud that they turned to see Ser Jorah's forehead leaning back on the table's surface again, groaning.

Daenerys immediately moved toward him.

"Jorah…" She placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"He's fine." Tyrion explained. "Just a little tired."

"Or drunk." Daenerys countered. "How much have they had?"

Her eyes dart to Varys, awaiting an answer.

"Far too much."

"Traitor." Tyrion remarked under his breath, before taking another sip of his ale.

Ignoring the hard glare Varys was sending him in return.

"Can you stand, Ser Jorah?" His Queen asked.

"Aye."

He pressed his hands to the surface of the table, then sluggishly began pushing himself up, his body wavering back and forth, as he stood.

"See, he truly is a bear." Tyrion raised his tankard high. "No drink can keep them down."

It was then that Jorah stumbled into his Queen's arms, then quickly stood upright, once he was able to find his bearings, as if trying to prove that he could still walk the trek to his chambers on his own.

"Why did you get him so drunk?" She shot an accusing look in Tyrion's direction.

"Oh, I see, this is a new game. You must have learned it from my father. It's called, 'let's blame the dwarf for our problems?'"

Varys rolled his eyes in response.

"You know better." His Queen chastised her Hand. "He does not drink as you do."

"I'm sorry…how is that my fault?" Daenerys gave the dwarf a murderous glare. "Perhaps he should try drinking more then."

"That's your advice, right now?" Daenerys shot back. "For him to get drunk more."

"Yes." The dwarf argued, watching the Queen place a secured arm around Jorah's waist. "It's a sound recommendation."

"It's nonsense."

Tyrion paused, eyes wide. "Why are you blaming me for what Mormont does? I did not force him to drink this piss."

"No, but I'm sure you had no qualms about refilling his cup for him either."

Tyrion opened his mouth, then quickly closed it, unable to dispute that claim.

"Fine," The Lannister pouted, holding his hands up in defeat. "At least let me help you take him to bed."

Daenerys shot him a stern look, a clear warning to stay away.

"I think you've helped enough for one night." She stated as she began walking Ser Jorah out of the room, his steps unsure and tipsy.

"Surely, you understand why our Queen is so angry with you?" Varys asked, still watching in the direction Daenerys had taken Jorah.

The little Lannister nodded, taking another sip of his ale. "Of course, I do. Apparently, dragons are just as fiercely protective as bears."

**-x-x-x-**

When they entered the room, he stumbled toward a chair at the writing table, but with one hand against its surface and his Queen's reassuring arm wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer to her, was he finally able to right himself again.

"Don't remember that being there." His speech slurred.

His Queen chuckled softly at his indisposed state, nudging him forward.

"Come on." She urged.

He half-heartedly wrapped his arm around her shoulder, trying to get his bearings as she walked him toward the direction of the bed, only to have him stop in the middle of the room.

She looked up at him concerned. "Are you alright?"

Jorah leaned his forehead against the side of her temple, whispering the words drunkenly.

"Need a minute."

Daenerys patiently waited with him, lightly rubbing her fingers in a circular motion on his back.

"Bed is behind you."

He mumbled more to himself than to her.

She leaned back, trying to meet his eye, hiding the laughter in her expression.

"I'm afraid it's to our left."

His head snapped back, forehead creased in bewilderment.

"Bastards moved it." He complained.

His Queen laughed out loud, no longer able to hide her amusement.

In all the years she had known him, she has never witnessed him inebriated.

And she would be lying if she said that this side of him didn't peak her interest a little. He seemed less serious, more relaxed with his surroundings.

Or maybe it was the fact that it was just the two of them, alone together, that allowed him to finally relax.

Both always being the others strength.

Again, she urged him on.

"Ready?"

Jorah nodded.

Carefully, she helped him toward the bed, gently pushing him down safely upon the edge of the mattress.

Daenerys watched Jorah's confused expression, trying desperately to hide the smirk that was beginning to form on her lips.

Suddenly, she was taller, and their altered height didn't go unnoticed by her Lord Commander, as he gave her a baffling once over from head to toe.

"You've grown." He said matter of fact. "Or I'm really drunk."

She leaned in, her expressive brows creased with pity, but her lips twitched with mirth.

"No, you're just drunk...and still taller."

"Ah." He managed.

"You should try and go to bed." She suggested.

"Why? You want to come with me?"

Their eyes met and her smile faded, but Jorah's mischievously grew.

It appears Tyrion was rubbing off on him after all.

"I see that ale makes you quite bold, Ser."

"Forgive me, Khaleesi."

But his remorse was short-lived.

The alcohol sorely affecting his memory, as well as his regard for propriety.

She watched as Jorah lightly patted the empty spot beside him, his blue eyes fixed to hers, silently tempting her with that dangerous smirk of his.

Daenerys hesitated, weighing her options.

Should she go?

Excusing herself by expressing white lies that speak of more pressing matters, when in fact, she's only really returning to her own chambers…empty and alone.

Or should she stay?

Taking comfort in his company. In the very solace of his presence.

Not taking advantage of course, she would never…nor would he. But, for one night, she would just like to see what it felt like.

To not be so guarded around him.

To just let things be.

For once.

She could leave before dawn and his inebriated state would never know the difference.

Then again, maybe he would.

Maybe he would notice.

They were so intricately entwined together, it wouldn't shock her in the least if he didn't wake the very instance she tried to slip from his embrace.

His Queen fixes him with a hard glare, but Jorah just smiles his way through her façade.

Until it breaks.

Whoever knew that a bear could bend a dragon to its will.

Another mystery for the maester's to unravel.

"Just until you fall asleep." She relents, trying to ignore the victory shining in his eyes.

Jorah unceremoniously fell back onto the pillows, his left arm across his stomach, as his right was laid out lazily to the side.

Carefully, Daenerys lays down beside him.

Softly, he pulls her toward him, and she easily turns, burying her face into his neck, her hand resting on his chest.

She smiles to herself, as he releases a contented sigh, taking in his surroundings in a foggy haze.

And then a beat more.

"Seven hells!" Jorah said alarmed.

Daenerys awkwardly turned her head, eyes peering up at him.

"What?"

He looked down at her, a lopsided grin on his face.

"This isn't my room."

This time they both laughed out loud.

"Well, I'm not moving you again."

"Guess you're stuck here all night then, Khaleesi. You're my only means to not getting thrown out."

A peaceful lull settles between them.

And then, he hears her confess something his subconscious could only muster in his dreams, but never in his waking hours.

"I really missed you, Jorah."

He pulls her tighter to him, turning his face toward her, placing a drunken kiss to her forehead.

Wreaking of the ale he just ingested, but oddly enough, she doesn't care.

It's an opportunity to be close to him.

To steal a night and not have to face the repercussions of that weakness in the morning.

Or to explain away that weakness as nothing more than a Queen, tending to one of her subject's and nothing more.

"Missed you too, Khaleesi." He says, before finding sleep.


End file.
